My Self-Insert Story
by gbakermatson
Summary: I know SI stories are generally cancer, but I always thought to myself, "God Harry's stupid, he should do this instead." So this is my interpretation of what I would do in Harry's shoes with the benefit of foreknowledge. No pairings because I'm not a pedophile, and rated M because I swear like a drunken sailor with a broken leg.
1. Chapter 1

I woke up to the sound of an explosion. I rolled out of bed and onto my feet, heading to my dresser to at least cover my dangly bits before I went to see what the matter was. Or at least, that was my plan. Instead of rolling out of bed, I just sort of rolled across the ground, which was exceedingly hard. I was already fully clothed, minus shoes, though the clothes didn't fit too well. I was also extremely clumsy, as none of my limbs seemed to work correctly. _Did I get drunk last night? Am I still drunk?_ I'm not much of a drinker, but I do tend to over-indulge on occasion.

I stood, wobbling slightly. _Huh, brain seems to be working fine. Maybe I'm just buzzed. But I can't stand properly?_ Everything was blurry, and I cast about with a squint, looking for my glasses. A child's voice squeaked nearby, "Where's the cannon?" _What the fuck? Why is there a kid here? And why's he got an accent? Fuck this is confusing._

An obviously overweight blur came out of a previously unseen room holding a blurry something, and shouted "I warn you - I'm armed!" _Who's that? Is that a gun?_ I started to swear under my breath. There's some fairly rigorous research that supports the idea that swearing helps reduce stress and pain, and I was certainly beginning to feel stressed. I _hate_ not knowing what's going on. No one could hear me, thanks to the storm outside. _Wait, a storm in the Valley in July?_

There was one more titanic "boom" before a door I hadn't previously seen exploded out of the wall and fell to the floor. _A police raid?_ In the doorway was a man who nearly filled the gap. He was about twice as tall as a normal man, and nearly three times as broad. He stepped inside, picked up the door, and set it in its previous position. He then turned to address the room. "Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey..."

Wait. Wait wait wait wait wait. Storm outside. "Where's the cannon?" Fat guy with a gun. Giant dude who broke the door down. British accents. I smiled. I'd solved the mystery. I was hallucinating, or having a lucid dream. Preferably the latter. Because there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that I'd been _(heh)_ magically transported into Harry Potter's body, on his eleventh birthday.

* * *

I cast about, not for my glasses, but for Harry Potter's glasses. There, on the floor. I picked them up, put them on, and made a _moue_ of dissatisfaction. His prescription was even worse than mine and these glasses weren't good enough to cover it. I then looked around and took stock.

The fat man against the wall with the gun was obviously Vernon Dursley. The bony-looking woman hiding behind him (with a fantastic rate of success) was Petunia. I looked around for Dudley and _holy shit_ that kid is fat. I then glanced up at who had to be Rubeus Hagrid. Yup, giant beard, tiny eyes, voluminous coat, the works. I then took a deep breath, and looked at myself.

Hands first. No hair anywhere, but considering that I'm in my late twenties and Harry's eleven, that's not terribly surprising. What _was_ surprising was the sheer amount of burns, scars, and calluses on the kid's hands. That was actually kind of creepy. I'm not the most creative type, and this kind of elaborate dream is usually beyond me. I pinched my arm (Harry's arm?), hard, and failed to wake up. Definitely felt the pain though. Well, that didn't work. I tried snapping my fingers, saying "Change dream!", and even closing my eyes and tapping my heels together. Nothing. I was starting to worry. I looked up, and was taken aback by everyone staring at me like I'd gone insane.

"What?"

"Have you gone mad, boy?" asked Vernon, with a kind of incredulous disbelief.

I sighed slightly, and responded "I think I might have." Clearly, not the response he expected. Explanation time.

"Well, I thought I was dreaming at first. This is way too weird to be real life. So, I started looking at details to snap myself out of the dream. But everything's internally consistent, so that didn't work. Then I went for the pain route, and pinched myself. I felt pain, but didn't wake up. So that didn't work. I'll admit that I was kinda grasping for straws after that, what with the snapping and tapping my heels together. But the end result is, I'm not dreaming. So, I must be hallucinating. Ergo, I might have gone mad." This had everyone in the room gaping slightly. Oh, right. Eleven-year old child. Not twenty-eight year old man with an interest in science and rationality.

Dudley spoke up then, with a remarkably germane and, to me, dangerous question. "Why do you sound like a Yank?"

I had a decision to make. I could either play along with the delusion, and risk my sanity and entire identity. Or, I could try and blow the entire thing up from the inside out by acknowledging that it definitely was a hallucination and revealing my identity to everyone. Yeeah, I'd rather not be crazy, thanks.

"Probably because I am one, kid." I turned to the rest of the room at large, and proceeded to explain who I was. "Hey everyone. You can call me Donovan. I'm apparently hallucinating right now, because in reality I'm a twenty-eight year old from California in twenty-seventeen. None of this is real. Where I'm from, you are all fictional characters from a children's story written by a depressed housewife."

More gaping. Hm. "Well, I might as well play along for now, at least until the nice men in the white coats come to take me away. So." I turned to Hagrid. "Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Ground at Hogwarts, right? Pleasure to meet you." I stuck out my hand, and gave my "meeting new people" smile.

"Now wait just a bloody minute!" Vernon blustered. "How did you know about that bloody school? We never told you a damned thing about all that freakishness!"

"Vernon, remember what I _just said_ about the children's story? I read those books when I was a kid. They're really good books, second-best selling books of all time, actually. Hogwarts and magic are a huuuge part of the story. I know the reason you took Harry in, how his parents actually died, how he got his scar, all of it." I thought that my use of logic here was actually kind of impressive, but everyone was staring at me again. It was actually getting pretty irritating. How could I wake up from this?

"Righ', well Harry, all sorts o' great wizards are mad, you're just startin' early then." I blinked in surprise, and addressed the half-giant in the room.

"Hagrid, I'm not Harry Potter. I'm Donovan, remember? I already introduced myself. This is all a hallucination." I explained slowly. I knew Hagrid was a bit slow on the uptake, but this was a bit much.

"You also said you were gonna play along, righ'?" "Good point." I admitted. "All right then, call me Harry I guess. Let's get this show on the road. You've got a cake for me, right?"

"How- Oh. Righ', you know everythin' Yeah, I think I sat on it a bit at one poin', but it should be good."

Petunia spoke up then, with a tone that could only be described as waspish. "Dudley, don't you eat a thing he gives you."

Hagrid laughed a bit. "Lad's already fat enough, don'cha think Dursley?"

I decided to speak up here. No reason to leave my morals behind, even if this was a hallucination. "Hagrid, that was rude. You should apologise." I gave him my best "stern look." After he shamefacedly mumbled something that could be construed as an apology, I said, "He does have a point, however. Vernon, Petunia, obesity can lead to a wealth of health problems, not just heart disease, but joint and back problems too. If Dudley doesn't do something about his weight, he won't be able to do sports, and girls won't want to date him when he gets older. Dudley." I addressed the child in question. He didn't seem to be as dim as portrayed in the books. Maybe I'd get through to him. "Have you ever seen boxing on TV? I mean, on the telly?"

He got excited, then. He was actually kinda cute, for a butterball of a kid. "Yeah! I think Eubanks has a shot at the middleweight title this year, don't you?"

I smiled a bit. "I don't really know enough about boxing to tell you, but I know you'll like doing it. But Dudley, you know how boxers have to fit in a weight class? You'll never be able to do that if you just eat whatever you want all the time. You should ask your school nurse about a diet, so that if you want to do sports in the future, you won't have to lose a lot of weight all at once. That's not healthy either, and it's hard to do. It's easier to lose a little bit at a time, while you're younger, and stay fit while you're young. Am I right, Vernon?"

Vernon was startled that I'd asked his opinion, given that he'd been swelling up for a while like he was going to start shouting. "What the ruddy hell are you talking about boy?"

"Well, you look like you used to be in great shape. Office jobs take their toll over time, but I bet you were a holy terror in a boxing ring back in the day. Wasn't it easier back in university and secondary school to stay in shape?"

"I never boxed." Said Vernon absently. "Rugby was more my speed. I liked working with the team. But yes, it was easier, now you mention it. I could eat whatever I liked while I was still playing, and I'd never gain weight."

"See what I mean Dudley? If you eat a little less, and exercise a bit more, you'll be in great shape in no time. And it's not like you have to go to the gym and eat nothing but salad, just play some football with your friends or bike around town, and have more vegetables and less sweets. It's all good fun, and good exercise." Now everyone was staring at me again. It was really starting to get irritating.

"Why are you being so nice? We treated you like a freak." Petunia asked. Her expression was a study. Shame, curiosity and even a little fear. I think. They really were shitty glasses.

"Petunia, you haven't done anything to _me_ yet. _We_ just met. Now you might have treated _Harry_ poorly, but I've already established that I'm not Harry. So as far as I'm concerned, you all and I have a blank slate." I had a gentle smile at first, but I think my face blanked next. "However, I _do_ know what you did to Harry. And it was reprehensible. Whether or not he was magical he was still a _child._ He was utterly blameless for what happened to anyone, and you treated him like garbage. Tell me, if Child Protective Services, or whatever the British equivalent is, came to your home, what would they find in the cupboard under the stairs? If they interviewed Harry, and he answered the questions honestly, would you or would you not be arrested and tried for child abuse?" I let my voice drop a bit. "If it had been you that died and Lily lived, do you think she would have treated Dudley like you treated Harry?"

Petunia seemed ashamed of herself, and at my last statement she started to sniffle, turned away and buried her face in her hands. I hated making women cry, but the phrase "tough love" seemed to apply here. She had been completely in the wrong to treat Harry the way she had, and she knew it. Vernon was at a loss, and though I knew he was furious at me, he couldn't decide whether to castigate me or comfort his wife. I made eye contact with him, and gestured at Petunia as if to say "Give her a hug, moron." He got the gist, I think.

I took a deep breath, and said "Right. I think I've disrupted your lives enough. Hagrid, is Gringott's open right now?"

He looked confused, and responded with a slow "Yeh, but we shouldn't leave just yet, it's the middle of the night."

"Hagrid, look at them." I gestured at the Dursleys, who'd had their nice quiet lives utterly shredded in the last week. "They need some time to come to grips with what happened tonight. Let's just head to Gringott's, I'll make a withdrawal, and we'll get a couple rooms at the Leaky Cauldron. I'm sure Tom won't mind putting us up. Then in the morning we'll get my school things."

"Yeh, you're righ'. I'm sorry 'bout the door, folks. I'll just take Harry here and leave." And so began my hallucinatory life as Harry James Potter.

* * *

I hadn't realised the main issue with being in an eleven-year-old body until I tried to really use it. I was _small_. I was _weak_. More than that, all of my bodily proportions were off, and I haven't even gone through puberty yet. Consequently, I was extraordinarily clumsy for a good long while. At least I didn't need the Talk.

As I staggered my way down to the boat that took the Dursleys and Harry to this wretched little island, I was wracking my brains as to what was going to happen next. Hagrid said he flew here, but how were we getting to Diagon? Was it a Portkey or the Knight Bus? It wasn't Floo or Apparition, I knew that much. Wait, if he flew here, why were we taking the boat?

"Hagrid, you flew here, right?"

"Yeh. Why?"

"If you flew here, why are we taking the boat back?"

"Well, I'm not suppos' to use magic now I've got ya."

"Why not?"

"Well, I got expelled from Hogwarts in me third year, so I'm no' allowed."

"Oh, right, you got framed by Riddle. Well, I won't tell if you won't."

Hagrid turned and stared at me, his mouth agape. "'Ow did you know tha'?"

I sighed, just a little, and said, "Hagrid, you're fictional, remember? I know pretty much everything that's going to happen in the next seven years, so long as I don't… change… Shit."

"'Arry, watch your language!"

"I'm twenty-eight, Hagrid. Deal with it." I had more important things on my mind. I was basically in a self-insert fanfiction, wasn't I? And I had no idea what I was going to do. The cat was already out of the bag as regards to my identity, because Hagrid couldn't keep a secret to save his life and I didn't know how to modify memories. He was definitely going to go straight to Dumbledore with that information. And I had no idea what kind of person Dumbledore was. What could I do?

Okay. I needed to know more about the society I was in. Was it pureblood dominated by economic might, or inherited political power? Were the children at Hogwarts realistic eleven-year-olds, or were they canny political opponents? Was Dumbledore A: a kindly old man with Harry's best interests at heart, B: a chessmaster doing what he had to in order to preserve Wizarding Britain, or C: an evil bastard posing as option A? I needed to do research. Wait, did I?

As Hagrid removed a truly massive broomstick from one of his pockets (figures, I didn't think a run-of-the-mill Cleansweep would be able to lift him) I had another decision to make. Since everything around me was affecting me as if it were real (and the realism of the situation was really starting to bother me. The sea breeze felt authentic, I could smell the brine, there was something in my shoe, and there were entirely too many scratches on my glasses), I didn't really have a choice but to proceed as if it actually were real. Or... I smiled. Like a video game. No saves, on Hardcore mode. And I was going to munchkin the _shit_ out of it. All those exploits, plot holes, and plain 'ol fantastic things about the Wizarding World of Harry Potter were mine to take advantage of, as I saw fit.

But, if I screwed up, if I died… What was going to happen to Harry? I couldn't afford to let that happen. Even if I fucked up and suffered, I don't know what was going on with Harry himself. For all I knew, he was riding shotgun in his own head, unable to control his own body. Assuming, of course, this was all a hallucination. God, I hope it was a hallucination. But, just in case…

"Harry." I spoke softly, having clambered onto the broom behind Hagrid and holding on for dear life. Hopefully the wind and rain would drown out my words. "If you're in there, kid, I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you have a charmed life. I'm not sure if this is even real, but if it is and I end up leaving your body, I'll do whatever it takes to make sure that the Second Blood War never even starts. You'll be able to play pro Quidditch or be an Auror or whatever you want, with just a minor case of famousness to deal with. I just need to do some research first."

So. To start with. I knew that there was going to be an attempted robbery of the vault the Stone was in. 713, if I remembered correctly. And Harry's trust vault was 687. Hm, if he had access to more vaults, I could munchkin my way into way more power, but the money wasn't mine. So I needed to first make a way to make money. I grinned, knowing that celebrity endorsements were lucrative in the extreme, and you didn't get much more famous than Harry James Potter.

We finally touched down on the side of a deserted stretch of highway, and Hagrid gently pushed me back. "I'm callin' the Knight Bus, best stay back." I took a couple healthy strides back, having a good idea of how the Knight Bus operated. It was a good thing I didn't get motion sick. Or, that Harry didn't get motion sick. Now that was an interesting question. Was it the mind or the body that mattered more with autonomic responses? Harry didn't have a fear of heights, but I did, and the broom ride bothered me less for the height than for the possibility of being drenched in freezing water if I fell off.

In the moonlight, in the pouring rain Hagrid held out his umbrella/wand and waited. There was a loud BANG that managed to make me jump, even though I was expecting it, and there the Knight Bus was. The doors opened, and out stepped Stan Shunpike, if I remembered right. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I'll be your conductor for this evening."

"'Ello Stan, two for Diagon. With some 'ot chocolate, please, it's beastly out."

"'Ello 'Agrid, tha'll be one galleon, thirteen sickles. 'An oo's this?"

This was it. This would determine how I would approach the wizarding public for the rest of my time here. I did my "meeting people" smile again, and extended my hand. "Pleasure to meet you Mr. Shunpike. I'm Harry Potter." I did what I could to imitate a British accent, but I needed more exposure to mimic it properly. Best keep it quiet for now. Polite, soft spoken, intelligent. That was what I was going for.

Stan's reaction was pure gold. His eyes bugged out, his jaw dropped, and his gaze glued itself to the scar on my forehead. "Well I'll be buggered! It really is you! 'Ere, Ern, take a look at this, it's 'Arry Potter!"

I remembered the driver's first name, but not the second. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr.-?"

"Prang." Ah. A man of few words. "Get in." And apparently not a night owl.

"Righ', let's get you settled." A few moments of bustling later, and Hagrid and I had our mugs of steaming chocolate, and were settled. I braced myself a bit, and had a moment of panic when I realised I was holding an open container of very hot liquid on what was basically a roller coaster. I was about to set it down when the bus "banged" into motion, and I squeezed my eyes shut in preparation for a scalding.

Nothing.

I opened my eyes, and glanced at my mug. The liquid inside was sloshing about as you'd imagine it would, but it never splashed past the upper rim. It was as if it were covered by an invisible membrane. I cautiously tipped it sideways, then entirely upside down. Still contained. I started to grin. Magic was _cool._

* * *

Another few "bangs" later, Hagrid and I and Harry's body (I'd decided that I should think of myself as "not Harry" for as long as I possibly could, to avoid possible psychosis) dismounted the Knight Bus, with relief bordering on ecstasy on Hagrid's part and mild disappointment on mine. Magic was turning out to be _utterly_ fascinating, and the Knight Bus was choc-a-bloc full of it.

Hagrid made a beeline toward a rather weedy-looking pub with "The Leaky Cauldron" in peeling paint emblazoned on the front. I leaned slightly to the side and yup, it even had one of those little signs hanging off the front with a cauldron dripping some golden fluid. The sign was animated, of course.

We ambled into the pub, and every head turned our way when the little bell above the door jingled. I suppose we made an awkward-looking pair. Hagrid, ten feet tall if he were an inch, had to duck down and turn sideways to make it through the door. I wasn't even five feet tall (No, Harry's body wasn't even five feet tall. This was going to be difficult, wasn't it?), and could probably fit two of myself (Harry's self! Shit.) through the door and our elbows wouldn't touch. A bit "Mutt and Jeff" really.

The pub itself was almost disappointingly mundane. It was a nearly stereotypical English pub, with dim lighting, wooden tables, wooden bar, and quietly murmuring conversation. The only thing out of the ordinary were the robes worn by the lion's share of the customers and the rag behind the counter that was polishing glasses by itself.

Hagrid made a left through a door I hadn't previously noticed, and I hurried after him. We emerged into an alley, with a brick wall just past a row of trash cans. "Watch close now, 'Arry, you'll need to do this yerself sometime." Hagrid withdrew is pink umbrella, and tapped a specific brick with a massive finger. "Tha' brick righ' there is the one you'll need to get in the Alley. Tap it three times with your wand an' the portal will open. Jus' count three up an' two across from th' bin." Hagrid tapped the brick three times, and the wall sort of _melted_ away. Not at all like the movies, but that was alright with me. I never liked them much anyway.

I was rapidly accumulating questions about why things were done certain ways, but I suspected the answer would be something along the lines of "tradition." " _Why doesn't the Knight Bus fly? Why don't we just mark the brick to tap with an arrow or something?" "We've always done it this way, why should we change?"_ If that was the case, dealing with wizards was going to be absolutely infuriating. I never could stand people that were willfully ignorant.

Hagrid and I strode out into Diagon. Well, he strode, I had to jog. Each stride of his was about three of mine. It was nearly deserted at this time of night, leaving me thankful I wouldn't have to deal with my...host's celebrity. We strode and jogged all the way down Diagon to the gates of Gringotts and I took the opportunity to examine the goblins outside the doors. They were about three and a half feet tall, and nearly covered in plate mail. Their skin was a light brown that reminded me of pie crust, and wrinkly. Their fingers were long, and I was pretty sure I spotted an extra knuckle. They were both holding polearms of some sort, and the weapons looked extremely functional. The blades were covered in scratches, and the armor the goblins were wearing was covered in scratches and pits as well. Clearly, they were used often. As I passed the one on my side, I looked him (her?) in the eye, and gave a nod. The creature just glowered at me. I clearly needed some etiquette lessons, or at least something to consult.

Thankfully there wasn't a line inside, so we went to the nearest open register. The being behind the desk smiled a grin full of sharp teeth at us, and I fought down the urge to give my "meeting people" smile. I could practically _feel_ the disdain in that expression. I decided to take charge, as best I could.

"Greetings, Teller. I am here to make a withdrawal from my trust vault, and my associate here" I gestured at Hagrid "has some business of his own." I leaned in closer, and said quietly,."I also have information about an attempted theft that will take place later this day."

The goblin's eyes widened slightly, and he slammed a "Next Window" sign down and snapped "Follow me." The goblin walked, Hagrid strode, and I jogged down a narrow, winding hallway into what looked like a cross between a medieval dungeon and a modern police office. There were three cells off to the right, and a series of desks to the left. Another door at the other end of the room said "SECURITY" in a no-nonsense font. Each desk was manned by either a human or a goblin. None of them looked up when we entered until the goblin we'd followed barked something in a different language, I assumed Gobbledygook.

The biggest goblin there fixed me with a vicious glare, and spat something else out in the same language. He pointed at the door behind him. Well, that was obvious enough. I started forward, and nearly shit myself when a blade appeared at my throat. "Jesus FUCK! What the hell?"

"Just what do you think you are doing, human?" It was the biggest goblin. It had somehow managed to cross the room past five desks, grab a sword on the way, and put it to my throat in an instant. Fucking _Christ_ these beings were scary.

"I thought you wanted me to go through the door over there! I mean, shit, I assume the teller here told you why I was here, and you said something back and pointed at the door. What was I supposed to think?"

Apparently logic was a thing that wizards just didn't do. The goblin looked surprised at my use of gradeschool body language interpretation, and snapped "Fine, just don't try anything or we'll see how much blood your body holds."

"About a gallon, if I remember correctly." Jesus. Apparently my mouth still works faster than my brain. Every being in the room was now looking at me strangely, Hagrid included. I attempted to explain. "Well, I probably have about half a gallon, because the gallon measurement is for a fully sized adult, and I'm definitely not fully sized." Still with the strange looks. "The Muggles made that measurement like a hundred years ago. I'm pretty sure they used executed criminals because it wasn't like they were using the blood anyway." Still with the strange looks. I decided to quit while I was ahead. "Sorry, just a little gallows humor."

After a pregnant pause, the goblin sighed and just pointed to the door. "Get in and tell him what you know."

The being behind the desk in the office was clad in armor like the rest of the security team, and the walls were festooned in weapons. The being barked at me as soon as I walked in. "Sit down and tell me what you know, and I'll consider _not_ confiscating the contents of your vaults."

Oh hell no. I try to do these bastards a favor and this is what I get? "If this is how you treat humans that try to give you advice, no wonder they all hate your guts." The being looked taken aback, and I decided to keep going. "See, this is the way I see it. I came across some information. This information meant that your bank has a security hole. My money is in your bank. If I gave you the information, my money would be more safe, and Gringotts' reputation would remain unsullied." I leaned forward, placing my hands on the edge of the desk. "Now, with you threatening to confiscate the contents of my vaults, what reason do I have to give you my information? I have no desire to improve the lot of my enemies, and if you were to confiscate my vaults we _would_ be enemies.

"So. You will give me assurance that Gringotts will deal with me fairly and honestly in all matters from this day forward; and I will give you the information I hold. Considering that you already _should_ be dealing with your clients fairly and honestly, you are still coming out on top. What say you?"

I could hear Hagrid behind me saying " _Shit shit shit shit"_ in a terrified little voice as the goblin in front of me scowled right into my eyes. I held his gaze for what seemed like a long time, before that goblin broke into snorting laughter.

"Oh, you've got a pair on you! Fine, human. I give my word that I'll deal fairly and honestly with you from this day forward. Now, what's this information you have for me?"

* * *

A short explanation, two cart rides, and a _really_ heavy bag of gold later, Hagrid and I were on our way back to the Leaky Cauldron. I had some definite pep to my step. I had struck the first blow against Voldemort already. With any luck, he would be deprived of his servant Quirrel, and we would even have a competent DADA instructor. I was practically patting my own back for a job well done. Hagrid, the poor bastard, was not doing well. Apparently he was not an aficionado of roller coasters.

We entered the Leaky, I paid for two rooms for the night, and we said our "good night's". Hagrid stayed downstairs for "a for'ifying dram." I had requested silencing spells around my room, citing light sleeping habits, but I had a different purpose in mind.

I stepped into the bathroom, and looked into the mirror. It was...wrong. I wasn't supposed to look like that. I was _little_ , and _pale_ , and my _hair_ was too long, and my _eyes_ were the wrong _color_ and _fuck_. I closed my eyes, and fought down nausea. What _was_ this? Was this body dysmorphia? I felt a sudden wave of sympathy toward the trans community as a whole, if this was what they had to deal with all the time. The mental separation I'd determined to maintain earlier in the evening had lasted hardly an hour. I took a deep breath, and opened my eyes again. I could _do_ this. I would get used to the way this body looked eventually, I just needed time. At least he wasn't a girl!

I started speaking quietly, my gaze fixed on those eyes that certainly weren't mine. It was easy to pretend I was talking to someone else, as the person in the mirror was definitely not _me_. "Harry, I'm going to be doing some things that you probably won't like. I know your fame makes you uncomfortable, but I'm going to be using it to do things to improve your lot in life, make money, and hopefully improve the world as a whole. I know you don't understand a lot of what's going on, but I also don't know how I can start to understand you. So, I'm going to be taking some time every once in a while to talk to you like this, to hopefully educate you on what I'm doing and why."

I began a long-winded recitation of everything I knew about wizarding culture. Blood purity, the makeup of the government, the Statute of Secrecy, the underage magic restrictions, wizarding travel, Quidditch, everything. I mentioned people he had to be careful around, people I was (fairly) sure he could trust, and people to avoid at all cost. I told him about Snape and his irrational hatred of James Potter, how people all over Great Britain worshipped at Dumbledore's altar, and Fudge's insecurity. I made certain to emphasize that Sirius Black had been wrongly imprisoned, and deserved his day in court. I wasn't painting a very positive picture of wizarding Britain, but I wanted him to have the best shot he possibly could if I "checked out" unexpectedly.

I'd been talking for nearly half an hour before I slowed to a halt. "And that's it for now. If I can think of more, I'll be certain to let you know as soon as I can. Right now though, I'm dead tired." I divested myself of the fucked-up shoes the Dursleys had given Harry, and looked around for the light switch. There wasn't one. I looked up for the light fixture. There wasn't one. "Well, shit. Uh, lights off?" Ah. "Lights on." Got it. I clambered into bed, and with a final "Lights off!" I damn near passed out. It'd been a _long_ four hours.


	2. Chapter 2

I awoke the next morning with a foul taste in my mouth and an urgent need to use the facilities. I didn't recognise my surroundings, and I panicked briefly before I remembered where I was. Right. Leaky Cauldron, Harry Potter's body, etc. _Shit_. I'd hoped the day before that I would return to real life after I went to sleep here, but no such luck. I rolled out of bed and padded to the bathroom, where I performed my ablutions with the hotel-granted toothpaste and whatnot. I had to hand it to them, wizards made a damn fine set of toiletries. The toothpaste left a minty taste, but it wasn't quite like the minty taste left by the mundane stuff. It was more natural, almost like I'd been chewing real mint leaves. Quite refreshing.

Returning to my room, I looked about for a clock,and found none. Right. Wizards had the Time-Keeping Charm for that. I checked the window, and it looked to be about mid-morning. I headed down the stairs for some breakfast, and greeted the barman affably as I took a seat at the counter. "Mornin' Tom. How're things?"

"Good enough young sir." He replied with a grin. His eyes flicked to my forehead, but he apparently felt the need to treat me like any other kid, as he asked, "Beggin' your pardon, but I never got your name the other night."

I grinned back, silently acknowledging his tactful avoidance of my celebrity, and continued the charade. "The name's Harry Potter. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." I held out my hand to shake, and he grasped it firmly. I took a moment to get the measure of the man, as he was likely one of the less visible movers and shakers of the wizarding world. After all, nearly every single Hogwarts student likely passed through here at one point or another, and I had no idea how long he'd been at his job. He was probably on friendly terms with nearly everyone in the wizarding world.

Tom was an elderly chap, slightly balding, with snow-white hair that curled slightly at the temples. His face was a mess of laugh lines, and sharp grey eyes peered out from underneath bushy white eyebrows. I compiled my customary mental dossier on him. _White male, approximately sixty years old, white hair, balding, about five foot nine, erect posture, intelligent, no identifying marks._ Wait. Wizards aged slower than mundane people, didn't they? I know Dumbledore, Marchbanks, and Bagshot were all over the century mark, and Dumbledore at least was portrayed as being around seventy years in appearance. I revised my estimate of Tom's age upward to around ninety.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Tom." He raised a solitary eyebrow. "You know my last name, but I don't know yours." His other eyebrow lifted in mild surprise.

"Dodderidge, Mister Potter. Although I'd prefer if you'd just call me Tom."

"Then I insist that you just call me Harry. After all, I'm probably going to be here for a while. I've never been to the wizarding world before, this is so _exciting!_ " My enthusiasm was entirely unfeigned. I was a _massive_ Harry Potter nerd, given the chance to live in wizarding Britain, go to mothafuckin' _Hogwarts_ , and learn _actual magic._ I was literally bouncing up and down on the barstool.

Tom laughed, whisked a menu onto the counter in front of me from...somewhere, and said "Well, if you're going to be takin' our world by storm, best get some food in ya first, hm? Care for anything to drink before you order?"

I opened by mouth, _black coffee_ on my lips, and closed my mouth before the request made it out. My real body might be a foot taller, twice as heavy, and resistant to caffeine, but Harry's definitely wasn't. I was liable to vibrate into a different dimension if I tried my normal morning routine (double-strength coffee, no cream, no sugar). I asked for orange juice and water instead. The requested beverages appeared in front of me with a small "pop," startling me badly.

"Sorry about that Harry, I should've warned you. Now, y'say that you've never been to our world before?" Tom waited for my nod, and then said "Flippy." I managed to wonder for a brief moment if that was like "froody" from _The Hitchhiker's Guide_ before a house-elf "popped" onto the stool beside me and piped, "Yes Master Tom?"

Tom said to me, "Harry, this here is Flippy. She's a house-elf, and the reason I can serve food as well as booze. She cooks twice as well as I do, and I wouldn't be able to keep this place afloat without her. Flippy, this is Harry Potter."

I held out a hand to shake. "Pleased to meet you Flippy. I'm looking forward to eating your cooking!" I smiled gently. I didn't want to trigger a Dobby-esque freakout, but I wasn't about to treat a thinking being like some sort of kitchen appliance.

Flippy didn't take my hand, but she did an adorable little curtsey and squeaked, "Flippy is happy to meet Mr. Harry Potter Sir. What would Mr. Harry Potter Sir like for breakfast?" I got the impression that she wasn't the gregarious sort. I gave her my order, and let her go with a quest to just call me "Harry," or "Mr. Potter" at the most. After she was gone, I looked right at Tom. I really wanted to know the truth behind house-elves. After all, if they were unwilling slaves, I had to at least _try_ to get them free. We had a short and not terribly informative discussion. Apparently everyone knew that house-elves had to serve a wizard or witch or they would die. Well, I was going to take that with a grain of salt. After all, everyone knew that Sirius Black was guilty too.

I was halfway through breakfast when Hagrid made his way downstairs, looking nearly the same as he had the day before. He tore through an absolutely _massive_ meal, and we made our way out into the Alley. I started wondering how I was going to give Hagrid the slip, because I had some errands to take care of that he really should not be privy to. I decided that honesty was probably the best policy here.

"Hagrid, why don't you head back to Hogwarts? I can do my own shopping, but I wanted to make an all-day affair out of it. After all, this is the first time I've ever been in Diagon Alley, and I want to do everything!" There. Entirely honest, but not the whole story.

Hagrid looked doubtful, but I played it up a little more. "After all, I proved last night that I know what's going on, yeah? I'll be fine! I just need my school supplies list so I know for sure what to get."

"All righ', but you stay out of Knockturn Alley, y'hear? There ain't nuffin in there for a li'l sprat like you." I grinned at him. _Man,_ that was easy. Dumbledore really hadn't made the best choice when he picked Hagrid as a minder. Hagrid was a great guy, but he didn't have a lot upstairs.

"Sure thing, Hagrid. I'll see you on the first of September, yeah?" We made our goodbyes, and I was let loose in Diagon Alley.

 _So, first things first: let's get Harry some decent fucking clothes._ I made a beeline toward Madame Malkin's, and asked the proprietor for a standard Hogwarts set, three sets of casual robes in blue, green, and maroon, and a set of dress robes. I think I made her day when I told her to "surprise me" with the dress robe selection.

I took my place on the sizing pedestal and looked to my left, only to find the one and only Draco Malfoy looking back at me! _Huh, he looks absolutely nothing like Tom Felton._ "Hello." Draco said. "Hogwarts too?"

"Yep." I said, popping the _p._ "I've never been to wizarding Britain before, so I figured why not get a full set of robes while I was here? When in Rome, and all that." Draco gave me a confused look. Right, mundane idiom. "The full quote is, 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do.' It refers to respecting the culture you're in, rather than trying to force the culture to conform to you."

Draco sneered. It was almost an adorable expression, like a baby lion trying to roar. Or more accurately in this case, a newly hatched snake trying to hiss. _Shit, I was trying to make a good impression too._ The last thing I needed was Draco Malfoy trying to be my nemesis or some such nonsense. "Well, at least you're not like every other _mudblood_ out there, trampling over all of our traditions. My father always says they're bringing the entire nation down."

I frowned. "Really now, is the profanity necessary? We're in a public place. Besides, I never said I was Muggleborn. My parents were both magical, but they were murdered by the Dark Lord." I was making an important decision there. Like it or not, Voldemort _was_ extraordinarily talented and powerful. He was Dark with a capital "D," and he was capable of gathering strong-willed people to his cause with little effort. The title of "Dark Lord" was entirely deserved. Conforming to societal pressures by avoiding his _nom de guerre_ would likely smooth my path, socially speaking. Calling him by insulting, childish names was sloppy thinking, and could lead to complacency.

Besides, if I ever wanted to piss him off, I could always call him "Tom."

Draco lost his sneer, and looked for a moment like I expected an ashamed eleven-year-old to look. "Sorry." He said quietly.

"It's all right, you didn't know." I said calmly. "But you might want to watch out for that kind of sloppy thinking." He looked up in consternation. "Discounting someone's power and abilities solely because of their birth is a foolish mistake. Personally, I value capability above all other things. I don't care if someone who serves me was born in a gutter, so long as they're good at their job."

Draco's sneer was back. "That's nonsense. Everyone knows that purebloods are the most powerful wizards." I just smirked at him.

"Prove it." He looked at me blankly. "Prove to me that, all other factors being equal, purebloods are more magically powerful than half-bloods and Muggleborn." My smirk widened. "Even then, I won't change my mind. I doubt you'd be able to prove that purebloods are any _smarter_ than than half-bloods and Muggleborn. In fact, I'd bet that there's absolutely no difference between the average pure-blood and the average muggleborn in terms of intellectual ability."

Draco was incensed. "Are you calling me stupid?" I sighed.

"Hey, I never said a thing about _your_ intellectual prowess." _Or lack thereof_ I added to myself. "I simply pointed out that you were taking certain facts for granted. I make it a point to question everything told to me.

"Historically speaking, the masses are sheep. They're willing to follow the loudest voice at the time, because they don't want to bother thinking for themselves. I _refuse_ to be led around by the nose like some sort of cattle." I grinned, and I'm pretty sure my canines were showing. "If the rest of the population is content to be sheep, I'll be the wolf in sheep's clothing."

Draco was staring at me, his mouth open slightly. He remembered his decorum all of a sudden, and his mouth shut with a "click." He looked me right in the eye, and said quietly, "Well, I look forward to seeing you in Slytherin."

I smirked even more. " _True_ Slytherins are never sorted into Slytherin." Draco's eyes widened in confusion, but before he could say more Madame Malkin interrupted.

"Mr. Potter, your fitting is finished. We'll have those robes ready for you at around four, if you'd like to come back for them." I smiled, asked to have them sent to my room at the Leaky Cauldron, and went on my merry way. I hope I gave Draco something to think about.

Next stop was Ollivander's. I was a little nervous about meeting the old man, because I didn't know how the wands were going to react. Was the wand going to react to Harry's magic, or my personality? Ollivander himself was another worry. I'd read all sorts of fics where he was some sort of savant, able to read a person's soul with little effort, or even a different species. I'd have put it off longer, but I _needed_ that wand.

I walked into the dusty, poorly lit shop, and stopped immediately inside the door. As the peal of the bell died away, I looked about for the proprietor. I couldn't see him anywhere. "Hello?"

"Ah, Mr. Potter."

I goddamn near jumped out of my skin with a loud " _FUCK!"_ I spun around, took two hasty steps back, and glared at the man. "Morgana's _tits_ man, warn a guy when you're going to do that!" _Morgana's tits?_ Since when did I swear like a wizard?

"My apologies, Mr. Potter." Yeah, he didn't look apologetic at all. "I am unusually light-footed, and I often forget how unnerving people find it." Suuuure. "I take it you are here to get your wand?" I nodded slowly. He flicked his own wand, and a measuring tape flew out from somewhere and began measuring every part of me.

"Actually" I began slowly, "I think I may have a fair idea of what wand may suit me." Ollivander raised an eyebrow. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches. I may be off on the length." Ollivander's other eyebrow raised, and he regarded me for a moment before disappearing into the back without a word.

He returned shortly with a dusty box. "Holly and phoenix feather, as you mentioned Mr. Potter. Eleven inches. Nice and supple." He handed the wand inside to me, and I felt a wonderful feeling, like sinking into a hot bath through my entire body all at once. Blue and silver sparks shot from the end.

"Holly and phoenix feather, as you mentioned Mr. Potter. Eleven inches. Nice and supple." Ollivander was regarding me like I was a bug on a pin. "I have been in this business for nearly a century, Mr. Potter. I have never had a customer tell me which wand would choose them. Do you know what makes that wand special?"

I looked him right in the eyes. "Yes. And I would prefer that you do not disclose either what makes it special, or that I was chosen by this particular wand. I have enemies, Mr. Ollivander. There are very many people who wish to see me dead, and any little scrap of information you disseminate could mean my life." I took a deep breath, and decided to take the plunge. "On that matter, I would ask you to do something illegal for me. I would ask you to remove the Trace from me, so that I might better train myself with the aim of surviving until I reach adulthood."

Ollivander smiled sadly then. "As much as I would like to help you Mr. Potter, I cannot. When the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Wizardry was established, a large-scale ritual was enacted over the entirety of the British Isles, with the exception of Hogwarts. The ritual had the effect of monitoring the use of magic near every child under the age of seventeen. I take it you live in a Muggle neighborhood?" I nodded, seething inwardly. _Damn_ the Ministry for their invasive policies. "I can only offer you this advice." He leaned forward and said quietly, "If you are in an area with a large concentration of witches and wizards, the Ministry will not be able to track your use of magic." He straightened up again, and continued "You make a good point, Mr. Potter. I will tell whomever asks that you received a white oak wand with a core of unicorn tail hair." He smiled suddenly. "I had a feeling that you would be an interesting customer Mr. Potter, but I did not have any idea just _how_ interesting."

* * *

I munched contemplatively on a roast beef sandwich at the Leaky Cauldron. The day had been massively interesting. After Ollivander's I'd gone to purchase a trunk. I had enquired about the possibility of a trunk with an internal apartment, time dilation charms, potions labs, and so on, but I was told that it would be cheaper to make my own castle. Apparently with each additional enchantment added to an object, the difficulty rose exponentially. The price of a trunk like Mad-Eye Moody's was prohibitively expensive. The only reason Mad-Eye could afford his was because he inherited it. I left the shop with a relatively expensive trunk with only three charms on it: a featherweight charm, a space expanding charm, and a shrinking charm. I resolved to add my own enchantments to the locks.

Next had been the bookstore, since I had more storage space. I'll admit I went a little crazy there, as I purchased beginning guides to nearly every field of magic there was. I asked the shop assistant if she had any advice on what a Muggle-raised student should buy, but apparently the wizarding world didn't care about the Muggleborn at all. Disappointing, but not surprising.

After the bookstore I hit the apothecary, menagerie, and an odds-and-ends shop. I was keeping an eye out for other useful items like a pensieve or something, but nothing seemed terribly useful. The menagerie, on the other hand, ended up being an interesting visit.

* * *

I walked in, and had to stop to allow my eyes adjust. The shop was dark, and packed to the brim with animal enclosures of all kinds. There was hardly any room to walk. I couldn't see any shopkeepers, so I just took the time to wander. I was nearing the back when I heard hissing that gradually resolved itself into weird speech.

" _Hallo snek. Am snek. Boop a snoot?"_

" _Hallo snek. Am also snek. Will boop snoot for snoot boops."_

" _Boop incoming'."_

" _Ah heck! Was not prepare!"_

What. The. Fuck. I stopped dead, mouth agape. I knew Parseltongue was a different language, but I wasn't expecting _this_. The snakes kept yammering on, until I interrupted.

" _Why u danger noodles talk like that?"_ Oh god no. " _Oh heck, now am talkin' like nope rope. What do?"_ This was fucking absurd. No wonder people didn't advertise Parseltongue when it sounded like that.

" _Sneks always speak snek. Humans not speak snek. Are you strange snek?"_ The one speaking was a little snake, black with yellow stripes. I think it wasn't venomous, but I wasn't sure.

" _No, you dumb venom sausage, this a Snek Talker. It speak Snek Speech, but is not snek. Very rare."_ This one was larger, with alternating black, red, and yellow stripes. If I remembered my snakes, it was a King Snake. The snakes degenerated into a cacophonous jumble of horrific grammar until one spoke up from just behind me.

" _Snek Talker."_ I turned, and saw a small, light grey snake looking right at me from a cage at head height. " _Pls to take this wiggle stick with you. I am sneaky snek, will not be seen. Will protec. Will attac. But most important, will have your bac."_

 _Nope_. That was it. I was done. I walked away from the sneks _goddamnit_ SNAKES that apparently, somehow, had access to the internet in 2017. I ended up taking home an adorable little ragdoll kneazle kitten that I named Murgatroyd (Murgie for short). He was a sassy little bastard, but he already seemed smarter than a lot of people I knew. As we made our way back to the Leaky Cauldron, I thought to myself that a hallucination was seeming more probable with every hour.

* * *

I spent the rest of the month of August in Diagon Alley, making myself known to all and sundry as "that nice Potter lad." I went out of my way to be polite, self-deprecating, and well-spoken. The more goodwill I managed to scrape up from the average witch and wizard, I figured, the less I'd have to deal with the sheep cursing Harry's name when the inevitable bad headlines came out. I did spend a day in Muggle London to get some mundane wear ( _Hm, maybe I should call them Mundanes, not Muggles),_ as I still wasn't terribly fond of robes. Too much loose fabric, with a tendency to get caught on things. As I began folding my robes and clothes on the 31st to put in the trunk, I went back over what I'd accomplished, and what I had yet to do.

I had managed to pack quite a few more pounds onto Harry's skinny frame, and made certain to spend most of the day walking about. The poor kid really was in atrocious shape, and probably malnourished to boot. I resolved to have a chat with Madame Pomfrey at Hogwarts _tout suite_. She wasn't the only name on my "to contact" list either. I needed to contact Augusta Longbottom for advice on wizarding lawyers; the DMLE to get Sirius Black out of Azkaban; and the _Daily Prophet_ to arrange a press release. First and most importantly, the DMLE.

I paused, a pair of socks forgotten in my hand. Maybe I could approach that from the side… I knew that the Ministry, with the exception of a notable few, were all out for self-aggrandizement and galleons alone. Anything that bucked the status quo would be shut down in a hurry, and a trial of a famous Death Eater everyone had forgotten about would definitely mess with the status quo. So, if I told just the ministry, it would simply be swept under the rug, and Sirius likely silenced for good.

But if I arranged to let it slip in the Prophet that I'd gone looking for Sirius's trial records and hadn't found them… I sat on the bed, deep in thought. Okay, I needed to arrange for Sirius to have a trial. No, I needed to arrange for Sirius to take Veritaserum, and be questioned publically. Anything past that would take care of itself. Hm.

I strode to the desk, grabbed a quill and paper, and began to write. My penmanship was still atrocious, but it was getting better. I was glad I shelled out for the Self-Inking variety, as I was sure that messing around with an inkwell would be a recipe for disaster. I listed what I needed to do to make it happen.

Article in the Prophet. Emphasize how I wanted to hear from Black's own lips why he betrayed my parents. Also, possible source of intel on DE activities.

Visit Fudge and grease the wheels. Flatter on how he'll see that Black finally makes himself useful to society, if only through testimony, unsolved murders, etc.

Hire lawyer anonymously, if possible. If not anonymous, just hint that Veritaserum would ensure that "all his crimes come to light."

3a. Talk to A. Longbottom about lawyers first, need a really good one.

3b. Maybe Ted Tonks? He's a lawyer, right? Or is he a healer?

Keep Black safe. Tip off DMLE about paper article, tell them he's innocent, request safe custody? Not sure.

I sat back and examined my thoughts writ out in ink. This was going to be tricky. I decided to owl Amelia Bones about a "hypothetical innocent in Azkaban" to test the waters. I made a quick trip down to the Owl Post office, and sent off a nigh-obsequious note with a postscript of "Thank you very much for your time and discretion. I am available at your convenience if you have any questions." I was certainly not expecting a knock half an hour later.

I opened the door and had to crane my neck back to make eye contact with the tall wizard standing there. _About six feet tall, black, bald, wearing red robes and a maybe-African hat thing. No identifying marks._ Shacklebolt, maybe? Before I could say anything, he asked, "Harry Potter?" When I nodded, he continued. "Your presence is requested in an investigation into a possible unlawful incarceration. Please accompany me to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for questioning. You are not under any suspicion at this time." He had a voice that Morgan Freeman would kill for.

"Wow, you guys work fast. Alright, let's go." I proceeded him downstairs, and to the floo. I tossed a knut in the little bowl, grabbed a pinch of powder, and paused. "Auror Shacklebolt, what's the floo address for the DMLE?"

* * *

I woke up tied to a chair, sitting across the table from a serious-looking redhead with a monocle, Shacklebolt standing behind her. My mouth once again worked faster than my brain as I blurted out, "Wow, that's really discombobulating. I've never been stunned before. Is it always like that?"

The redhead, who I only had to assume was Amelia Bones, spoke not to me, but to a hovering quill. "DMLE interrogation log for thirty-one eight ninety-one. Interrogator Amelia Bones, witness Kingsley Shacklebolt. Subject is wearing the likeness of Harry Potter, method unknown. Polyjuice potion, self-transfiguration, glamours, and enchantment have been ruled out. Subject, state your full name." Damn, she wasn't fucking around. Good. Now I just had to convince her that I wasn't completely insane.

"My full name is Donovan James Hock. I am twenty-seven years old, and a resident of California in the United States. On the stroke of midnight on July thirty-first, I woke up in the body of Harry James Potter."

That caused a long, awkward silence. I decided to speak up again. "I volunteer to take Veritaserum to verify my statements." That garnered a raised eyebrow from Madame Bones.

Bones studied me like I was a particularly interesting piece of dryer lint that she'd found stuck to her sleeve, and said "Shack?" Shacklebolt just murmured "Yup." and poked his head out of the door. The threshold was likely silenced, because I didn't hear anything. He closed the door, and they resumed studying me. I cleared my throat awkwardly.

"Uh, do you want me to keep talking, so you can get an idea of what to ask?" A nod. "Okay. Well first and foremost, Sirius Black never had a trial, and has therefore been held illegally for ten years. At the least, he should have been interrogated to find out the extent of Ministry corruption at the end of the first Blood War, but that was swept under the rug. I personally suspect bribery.

"However, questioning will reveal that he was never a follower of the Dark Lord, did not commit the murders he was incarcerated for, and was not the Potter's secret-keeper. The fault for all of those falls on Peter Pettigrew, who is currently the property of the Weasley family under the cover of his animagus form of Scabbers the rat.

"Additionally, the Dark Lord never truly died. He made a number of Horcruxes, several of which are immediately available for destruction. The Dark Lord himself is currently possessing or about to possess the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, Quirinus Quirrell. Wait, maybe not. I tipped off the goblins that he was going to try to steal something from Gringotts, so he may be dead already."

I paused, and added "Oh, and Barty Crouch Senior is holding his own son under the Imperius Curse at home, aided by his elf Winky. Crouch Junior and Barty's wife swapped places with the aid of Polyjuice before she died in Azkaban."

Silence ruled the room, broken only by a clatter as Bones' monocle hit the tabletop.

* * *

An hour and three drops of Veritaserum later, I was released from the bindings on the chair. Madame Bones was nearly vibrating with suppressed fury, and Shacklebolt looked no better. "Shack, I'm authorising the immediate relocation of Joe Bloggs to a Ministry holding cell. Keep it under wraps. Get Proudfoot and Savage to make a quiet visit to Arthur Weasley, and tell them to bring magic-suppressing cuffs. Rufus and Robards will collar Crouch quietly tomorrow morning when he comes into work. Tell Alastor to dig up that list of possible Death Eaters he compiled after the war, we'll probably need it." As Shacklebolt left, she got up and began to pace. While I rubbed some feeling back into my wrists, she turned to me. "Pott- er, Hock, are you willing to cooperate with the DMLE?"

I frowned thoughtfully. "Yes, but under some conditions. You'll need to keep Albus Dumbledore and his Order out of it. He's under some asinine impression that those animals are able to be rehabilitated. We both know that they need to be put down, and put down hard. Dumbledore will likely try to interfere. I'd also like an exemption from the underage wizardry laws, and some sort of protection from the law, but I think I can work around that if need be."

She raised an interrogative eyebrow. "Why would you need protection from the law?"

I grimaced. "I'm not a nice person, Madame Bones. My methods are likely going to be somewhat clumsy, and slightly bloody. I aim to make the prospect of opposing me more terrifying than opposing the Dark Lord, at least for the Death Eaters in training at Hogwarts. Some backup on your part would go a long way toward making that easier."

She considered my thoughtfully. She finally spoke. "I never heard you mention that. As far as I know, you have no plans to do anything but be an ordinary Muggle-raised Hogwarts student. I'll treat any claims of your supposed hostile action with suspicion."

I just nodded. A little help, but not a Auror deputization. "And the underage exemption? After all, followers of the ways of the Dark would love to have Harry Potter's head on a plate, and being able to practice at any time would go a long way to keeping said head attached. Even if the media got wind of that, treating the Boy-Who-Lived as a precious natural resource would hardly look bad."

She smiled a little. "Indeed. Very well, I'll file the paperwork today. Don't try to do any magic until the second."

I shrugged. "I'll be at Hogwarts by then anyway." I paused. "So, what was it that cottoned Shacklebolt on to the fact that I'm not Potter?"

She smiled more. "You knew his name, but he ever told you."

Another half-hour of conversation and the rest of the details had been ironed out. I would be granted an exemption for the underage magic laws, ostensibly for my own protection. The DMLE would regard any claims of Harry Potter's viciousness with incredulity. They would also "misplace" several Auror training guides.

I was escorted back to the Leaky Cauldron by John Dawlish, and collapsed into bed. That had been a helluva evening, but progress had been made. I requested a nine o'clock alarm from Flippy, and passed the hell out.


End file.
